A/ Ok guys, this one is a bit of a long one. I hope you get the reference, I couldn't help it. For those who don't know, almost all the 'r's in a Boston accent are replaced with 'ah', whether they're typed like that or not. Hope you like it! Much loves 3
Sam pulls her jacket tighter around her, trying to stay warm and keep her teeth from chattering.
"Turn on the heat if you're that cold." Daryl says, risking a glance away from the snowy road.
"It would use too much gas. I'll be fine." she says, slowly to avoid biting her tongue, staring out the window at the snow that has started to pick up.
Daryl reaches behind them into the back seat, searching for something, blindly groping while trying to watch the road. He drops his poncho on her lap. "Here, put this on."
"You might need it." she tries to hand it back to him.
"Do I look like I need it? Yer the one that's shiverin so hard that yer shakin the damn car. Put the damn thing on and warm up."
Sam tugs it over her head and within a few seconds can feel herself warming up. "Thanks."
"No problem. Think we should try to keep driving through the snow? Seems to be picking up again." he asks, starting to struggle to see the street signs.
"I don't know. I don't know these roads very well, and I'd hate to get us completely lost. And it wouldn't take much."
Daryl glances at the clock in the car, reading just after five, but the storm clouds have darkened the sky. "Maybe we'll stop for the night then."
They stop off to the side of the road, not wanting to risk getting stuck in the snow and mud. Daryl heads out into the woods, and Sam starts collecting show to replenish their water supple. The faint click of a gun hammer snaps her head up.
Two men stand about twenty feet from her. The one holding the gun steps forward, not pointing it at her, but keeping it ready. It's hard to get an accurate idea of his size, it could be muscle, or due to the cold it could be layers upon layers of clothes. Judging by what little she can see of his face, the sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, there isn't much to either of them. She slowly stands.
The gunman lowers the make-shift scarf from his face. "Hey theah beautiful. Watcah doin out heah all alone?"
"I'm not alone." she says, louder than normal, praying that Daryl isn't too far away. The weight of her hatchets gives her some comfort, but they are no match for a gun. If it weren't for the guns, she could take these two, no problem.
"Sure looks that way to me, huh David?"
She can hear the suppressed Boston Irish accent and decides she might be able to talk her way out of this. She lets her accent return in full. "Weah you from? I know that accent."
"Southie." he says, relaxing his stance a little.
"No suh. I grew up in Kenmoah. You seen the neighbahood lately?" she asks with a laugh.
"Coupla weeks ago." the other one, David, says "Trashed."
"So bettah than evah, right?" she glimpsts Daryl a few yards behind them and knows to keep them distracted "What ah yah names?"
"Connor." the gunman says, putting the safety on the gun "This idiot's David."
"Alright boys," Daryl says, coming up behind them. "now if yer smart, you're gonna toss your weapons to her. If you're fuckin stupid, I'll kill you both before you can turn around."
David visibly panics, throwing everything towards Sam and looking like a caught rabbit. Connor throws down the gun in his hand but doesn't move to grab any others.
"I know you got more than that. Come on." Daryl says starting to walk around them "How many of you are there?"
"Just us two." Connor says coolly.
"Not likely." Daryl says and directs his attention to David, "How many."
David glances between Daryl and Connor a few times before blurting "Twenty. There's twenty of us."
"Damn it, you idiot." Connor smacks him in the head "Shut yah mouth before yah get us killed."
"Where y'all camped? Gotta be close by." Daryl asks, switching his aim between the two men.
"Couple a miles back, little half destroyed town we found before the snow." Connor answers "Me an him ah scouts, look for anything useful."
Daryl watches Connor's eyes quickly look over Sam, but decides not to drop this fucker just yet.
"Are there a lot of people from Boston in your group?" Sam asks, suddenly thinking of her mom and Cally.
"Nah, just me an David. Rest of them ah from New York and Pennsylvania. Why? You looking for a little piece of home?"
"Doesn't look like you found anything useful. Why don't you turn around an go on home now." Daryl says.
David starts slowly backing away. Connor turns his back on Daryl and takes a few steps away. Before either of them can move, Connor whips around with a small pistol in his hand and fired a wild shot at Daryl. David takes off into the woods and Connor drops to the ground before he can get off another shot, a bolt protruding from his right eye socket. He tries to aim for David, but his run is too erratic and would only be a wasted shot. Daryl puts up his bow with a hiss, the sudden adrenaline rush fading and the cold air seeping into his grazed arm.
"Oh my god! Are you ok?" Sam asks, going to him.
"Yeah." he scoops up a handful of snow and shrugs his shoulder out of the jacket "Guy must have learned to shoot from Andrea."
Sam chuckles, remembering the incident a few months ago. "Do I have to try to stitch you up? Or can we just bandage it?"
"Bandage for now, we gotta get rid of him first." Daryl nods in the direction of the body, and pulls his grease rag out of his pocket. "Gimme a hand?"
He grits his teeth as Sam tightens the cloth around his arm and ties it off.
"Heads or tails?" she asks, giving him a lopsided smile.
"Almost done." Sam says apologetically, "Sorry, it's been a long time since I've sewn anything and never…"
"Don worry bout it." he tries not to grind his teeth when she tugs the thread too tight "Just focus."
"Think we moved him far enough away that walkers going after him won't find us instead?"
"We'll be fine. If a few find us, then we know what to do." he says with a sharp inhale "Haven't heard you talk like that in a long time."
"What? Oh, yeah, my accent." Sam smiles "It was nice to not have to think about it for a little while."
"Last time I heard it you were hollerin at me in the barn." he smiles slightly.
"Yeah," she fights the urge to look away from what she is doing "It always comes out when I'm mad. I just got used to downplaying it. Hardly anyone else can understand it anyway."
"I'm gonna go try and find a brook or something, get some stuff washed before we head out." Sam says.
"Don't go too far, you know the deal." Daryl reminds her, organizing the last of their stuff.
"I won't. I promise." she zips her jacket up and trudges into the woods.
Daryl turns, ready to give Sam shit for taking so long when the words stick in his throat. The five men coming out of the woods aren't who he wanted to see at all.
"Drop all your weapons, you hillbilly bitch." the guy in middle says, gun trained on him.
Daryl recognizes the accent from the night before. Sure enough David is back, cowering behind the group. His bow isn't loaded, his gun is in the car, there's no way he could do anything to any of them without getting riddled with bullets. He tosses his weapons, all except the small knife in his boot, into the snow between them. The men try to close the circle around him, backing him up against the jeep.
"David says you killed my brother, huh? That true?" the guy says, stepping in closer.
"He drew on me. Didn't give me a choice." his muscled tighten as he goes on the defense.
"That was my brother. Where is he?" he demands.
Daryl risks glancing away from Connor's brother to assess the other guys encroaching on him. His limbs twitch with the need for motion, but common sense tells him not to lunge or this guy will shoot without a second thought.
Sam hears voices and slows her walk, keeping in the shadows of the trees. She can make out Daryl's low voice and southern twang, and another Southie accent, almost identical to the guys last night. She quietly leaves her bag by a tree and creeps forward as much as she dares. Her frozen fingers grasp the cold bark as she scrambles silently into the tree, watching the exchange by the car. She flattens herself against the branch, Daryl is getting ready to fight, moving like a caged animal, trying to figure out who to go after first. He takes a swing at the guy closest to his and all hell breaks loose. They rush him, thankfully not shooting yet. One of the men gets behind Daryl and hits him in the back of the head with the butt of his gun and Daryl drops like a rock. Sam presses her fist to her mouth to keep in the scream
"Get him in the cah, he's coming with us." the man who hit Daryl yells.
Sam watches them shove Daryl into the jeep and pile in and on it. She waits until they are out of sight before climbing down and walking over to the kicked up snow. Bending down, she picks up Daryl's crossbow and hunting knife, slings the bow over her shoulder and follows the tire tracks.